


Uniquely Situated

by dreamlittleyo



Series: I'm Not Sorry (Kinky Dice Oneshots) [10]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Boss/Employee Relationship, But Seriously Don't Try This At Home, Consent Issues, Drugged Sex, Established Relationship, Irresponsible Decisions, M/M, Pain, Rough Sex, Somnophilia, everyone has a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton makes a troubling request, and Washington requires very little convincing.





	Uniquely Situated

His boy has always been a light sleeper.

Washington has known this almost from day one. Hamilton wasted no time in throwing any semblance of healthy work-life-balance out the window instantly, in favor of working through the night and running himself ragged. Washington’s never seen him without deep-shadowed circles under exhausted eyes.

Attempts to convince Hamilton to take better care of himself are generally useless. Especially when he says such reasonable things as, "I'll take a nap after the board meeting tomorrow. I need to be awake tonight for a consultation with your publicity team in the Garrin Nebula." Intergalactic timetables _are_ a nightmare to contend with. And though it’s always clear Hamilton is lying about catching up on postponed sleep, ordering him to rest has always been an impossible feat.

That's been one unanticipated bonus of their affair. Washington can drag his boy away from work and into their bed, rather than praying Alexander will concede a couple hours' sleep on the couch in Washington's office. For all the reasons fucking his personal assistant is a terrible idea—and it _is_ a terrible idea—at least Washington can force the brat to have an occasional care for his own physical wellbeing.

Once he coaxes Alexander to bed, Washington has to be careful not to wake him. It doesn't take much. Even at his most depleted, Hamilton will rouse at a jostle of the mattress or too loud a snore, and rise again to handle whatever task he has abruptly decided is too urgent to leave until morning.

So when his boy looks him in the eye and announces, "I want you to fuck me while I'm asleep," Washington's very first thought is to wonder how it can be remotely possible without waking him.

His second thought, following quickly on the heels of the first, is that this is among the stranger cravings Hamilton has admitted to him since they first became intimate. He learned quickly that his boy is adventurous in the bedroom. Despite his sometimes discomfiting youth—at twenty-four he is less than half Washington's age—Alexander has expanded his horizons, taught him kinks and vocabulary he never knew before. Washington has learned to do downright artful things with rope and restraining fields. He has learned his boy enjoys a great deal of discomfort—even pain—alongside the pleasure of sex.

But this is new, and Washington's eyebrows rise on his forehead, despite the fact that he makes a point never to appear judgmental of the things Alexander requests.

His expression is _not_ judgmental—at least he hopes not—merely questioning. He's not entirely certain he understands _why_ , never mind how.

There is already heat igniting beneath his skin at the suggestion, which surprises Washington. He would not have predicted _this_ , of all things, to appeal to his libido. But now the suggestion has been spoken aloud. Now he knows his boy wants it. Now he is _thinking about it_ and finds himself imagining, in detail, just how delicious it would be to use Alexander in such a way. To know Alexander is _truly helpless_ beneath him—even more so than when Washington cuffs him to the bed or ties him up in complicated knots—not just incapable of escape, but utterly insensate. Unaware, and unable even to protest whatever might be done to his unconscious form.

Washington used to feel guilty for the sadistic streak Hamilton brings out in him, but he has since made peace with his more troubling urges. He has no desire to cause actual harm, and he is intimately familiar with Alexander's limits. The more closely they align, the more boundaries they cross together, the more confident he has become in desiring such things.

There’s still a need for caution when they broach new ground, and Washington sits on the couch beside Alexander now—they seem always to have these conversations in the office, as though the pretense of other work makes Hamilton more confident in admitting new perversions—and watches his boy’s face as he measures his answer.

"You mean you want me to fuck you while you pretend."

Hamilton blushes and shakes his head. "No. I want you to fuck me while I'm _actually asleep_. I want to be completely powerless."

Sidestepping for the moment any question of how improbable it is for Hamilton to _remain asleep_ through such vigorous activity, Washington points out, "If you're truly unconscious, you won't even experience it."

"But I'll feel it when I wake up." The blush on Alexander's face is brightening in a way that both charms and arouses Washington, and the eager voice shifts to a higher pitch as his boy explains. "I'll know what you did. Especially if you— I don't want you to be gentle about it. I want it rough. I want to wake up in agony."

_This_ bent is not an unusual request, though it still gives Washington pause. "You want me to hurt you while you cannot defend yourself. While you can't even tap out if I take things too far."

"You won't take things too far," Hamilton breathes, scenting his pending victory. "I trust you."

And oh, it is a terrible idea. Unsafe at best, unforgivable at worst. But Washington already knows he is going to agree, and there is concession in the question when he follows up to ask, "And how do you intend to _remain_ unconscious while I violate you so brutally?"

Hamilton grins. "You'll have to drug me."

Yes, this is a terrible idea indeed.

Of course Washington agrees.

Obtaining the appropriate sedatives is an easy task, and he does so within the day. But when he tries to ask _when_ they should enact this ill-advised spectacle, Hamilton only shakes his head and refuses to decide.

"Surprise me," he says.

Washington gawps at him. "You _must_ be joking."

"No," Hamilton says. "I don't want to know it's coming. I want to wake up confused and disoriented and hurting, not _perfectly aware_ of a plan put into action."

"You are a strange young man," Washington observes, keeping his voice wry to cover up just how thrilling he finds the prospect of what he is being asked to do.

Of course he bows to Alexander's demands. It's no hardship, considering how thoroughly the thought excites him.

He waits a solid week. Long enough for Hamilton to grow twitchy and restless with anticipation. Long enough to drive both of them nearly mad. Then, when _he_ can no longer stand the delay—which means Alexander is even more impatient—he arranges to discreetly clear the next day's calendar of all engagements. Doing so without the knowledge of his personal assistant is a challenge, but damn it, this is Washington's company. He can do as he pleases.

That night, leaving the office late— _together_ as always—Washington doses Alexander's coffee before they reach the parking level where Washington's AI-chauffeured luxury vehicle waits. The caffeine in the coffee will be no match for the sedative, and Washington has timed this out meticulously. Hamilton will fall asleep during the ride, a thing that occasionally happens simply because he has run himself too hard for too many days straight. But this time when the vehicles stops, he won't wake back up.

Washington leaves all of Hamilton's things in the cab of the vehicle when they reach his private garage. Leaves his own work as well in favor of dragging Alexander's solidly unconscious form out of the vehicle and into his arms.

His boy weighs too little—Washington can never seem to convince Alexander to eat proper meals—and it's alarmingly easy to carry him into their home. Up the single flight of stairs and along the narrow hallway, into the bedroom they share. More of a challenge is undressing him without the help of limbs moving to assist. It's not quite so difficult as when Alexander actively fights him, but it is surprisingly close. Washington nearly resorts to tearing fabric to pieces by the end, desperate as he is to touch.

When at last he has Alexander naked on the bed, Washington kicks off his shoes and socks, throws his belt to the floor, shrugs out of his suit jacket. That's as far as he bothers to undress before climbing onto the mattress—climbing on top of his boy—and opening his fly to take his cock in hand.

Alexander is beautiful like this. Naked, on his back, helpless.

To be fair, Alexander is always stunning. A distraction even before he invited himself into Washington's bed, a _problem_ now that the more intimate contours of their relationship mean Washington is allowed to stare as much as he likes. Asleep, he looks even younger than his years, an angel ready to be debauched. Mouth barely ajar, chest rising and falling steadily, dark hair splayed across the pillow beneath his head.

Washington does not bother prepping him first. He's taken every detail of Alexander's demands to heart, and he will not make this gentle. He slicks his cock—more a concession to his own aversion to chafing than any attempt to spare his boy—and wrenches skinny legs apart more roughly than necessary.

He thrills at the fact that this unnecessary violence garners no response at all.

When he lowers himself atop his boy—when he lines up between his thighs—when he nudges at Alexander's tight entrance with the head of his cock… His senses are spinning. He is hungry for this. Eager. More turned on than he has any right to be.

He fucks in viciously. Holds Alexander's hips with bruising strength and forces his cock deep despite the resistance of tight muscle. The effort would earn a scream of genuine pain under normal circumstances—Washington knows this from experience—but in this moment there is no reaction at all through the effects of the sedative.

Washington's pulse speeds and his lungs work faster. Heat spins along his bloodstream, possessiveness blurring his senses as he stares down into Hamilton's slack face.

There is no softness in the way he fucks Alexander. He heeds his boy's sincere plea: _I want to wake up in agony_. Uses the pliant body beneath him with a brutality that should perhaps surprise him. It should not be this easy. This satisfying. This _delightful_. He should not take such overwhelmed pleasure in hurting someone who is truly defenseless, but god, he does. He enjoys the eerie stillness of the body beneath him, the steady quiet of Alexander's breath through the unchecked cruelty of it all.

When Washington spends, his orgasm is a nova of too much sensation. Alexander's cock is hard, but Washington doesn't touch him. It’s not a detail they discussed, and so it’s a line he will not cross.

Cleanup is quick, and Washington takes an actual shower. He changes into soft pajamas, though he leaves Alexander naked atop the blankets, arranging his boy in what he hopes is a comfortable position for sleep. When Washington returns to bed himself, it’s with a mug of tea for his nightstand, and a pile of work to do. He has no intention of resting tonight; he will keep his vigil until the sedative wears off and Alexander wakes.

Perhaps it should not surprise him that after only an hour he aches to claim his boy again.

There seems little reason to refrain, so he sets his work aside. The only light emanates from the lamp on Washington's nightstand, but that’s more than enough as he approaches Alexander. He's feeling more patient now. His cock is stiffening, but there's no urgency to the sensation, so Washington takes his time. He touches Alexander, explores with his hands and mouth, noting the way he sometimes manages to inspire a split second hitch in Hamilton's otherwise smooth breathing. He bites and sucks dozens of bruises into defenseless skin, all over Alexander's body. Vicious marks that he knows will be appreciated in the mirror later.

When he can no longer wait, he takes his cock out. Considers. Then shoves Alexander onto his stomach, making sure his face is turned to the side so as to not smother him in the pillow. There is something indescribably perfect in the sensation of lowering his weight along the motionless line of Alexander's back—of pinning him so completely Alexander's skinny frame is all but lost beneath Washington's sturdier bulk—of finding his boy's already battered entrance and forcing his cock deep once more.

This second claiming is barely less brutal than the first, though this time Washington lasts a great deal longer. His hips snap forward with all the power he can muster, jolting the helpless rag-doll of Alexander's body against the bed. The rhythm is unrelenting, the force of it such that he can imagine Alexander's tearful voice begging him to stop, though doing so without using one of their signals to call a true ceasefire. When the way becomes abruptly more slick, he knows he has made his boy bleed—but he doesn’t stop or even slow his efforts. There is too much need winding through him. He is so, _so_ close.

He fucks Alexander for what feels like an eon, panting hotly against the line of his throat, grasping at him with restless hands that leave bruises everywhere they touch. His second orgasm is even more powerful than his first, and he bites down _hard_ at the junction of neck and shoulder, even though he has no reason to quiet his cry of satisfaction.

Again he cleans them both up. And again he returns to his work.

Within an hour Alexander begins to wake, groggy and sluggish, but unmistakably clawing toward consciousness. His breathing grows less steady, and he shifts now in his sleep, where before the sedative kept his limbs entirely powerless. When those drug-bleary eyes blink up at him, Washington smiles down at his boy, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It takes a moment. An unsteady movement of Hamilton trying and failing to push himself upright, and then a grunt of pain as his senses register the state of his ass.

Alexander blinks harder, obviously trying to clear his vision and his head, but he sounds slurred when he says, "You actually did it."

Washington sets his work aside and maneuvers to lie down beside his boy, face-to-face. "How do you feel?"

"Like someone drugged me and then fucked me into next week." Hamilton is practically purring, and he scoots closer to Washington, charmingly clumsy.

"Twice," Washington clarifies.

Hamilton _beams_ , and the expression warms Washington's chest with possessive affection.

"Did you record any of it?"

Washington's mouth turns down at one corner. "You didn't ask me to record it." He took no liberties with Hamilton's instructions. Followed every request to the letter, not once deviating from the path—except insofar as Hamilton did not ask to be fucked more than once—and he would never consider taking such a liberty.

"Hmm." Hamilton burrows in closer, nudging Washington's arm to drape over his waist. "Next time then."

Then Alexander kisses him, sleepy and sated and trusting. Washington accepts the kiss. Returns it. And when Hamilton nods off in his arms, he lets his boy sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I also hang out **[over on Dreamwidth](https://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/)** , if you'd like to find me. (And recently set up a **[Hamilton/Washington Community](https://whamilton.dreamwidth.org/)** over there, just a heads up to anyone who might be interested :)


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